P s 

1753 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




BEN'S 



TRAVELS, 








w wmm 






^ . '^^ AND-H=' , ^ 



e:ss-<^-2-. 



'-^r'-^h^'-^h-'^ 



s J.'o.i^/C'^.S-fe-.' If 




/■ 



CHICAGO: 

CO-OPERATIVE PRINTING ASSOCIATION. 

1880. 




7-> /7J-3 

L 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, 
By Ben Goodkind, \y^ 
In tlie Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



PREFACE. 

—4 — ^^ — 5— 

TO THE READER. 



Dear Eeader : After having gone through trials 
innumerable, and after having overcome obstacles that 
to me seemed insurmountable, 1 am at last enabled to 
place my little volume before you. 

Every person whom I know, and many I do not 
know have advised me to discard literature, for two 
good and sufficient reasons. Firstly, because I do not 
know enough, and secondly, because I would never 
earn enough at it to buy a dinner. Despite their able 
arguments 1 clung to my own ideas however, and leav- 
ing every one whom I knew, betook myself to solitude 
and there studied incessantly. I endured the most 
pinching penury and want. This course of action of 
mine to my friends seemed so foolish and crack-brained 
that they deemed me demented, and frequently hinted 
at lunatic asylums, &c. I avoided them all though and 
persevered in my resolution to become an author. I 
knew I had the taste and inclination for literature, 
and these I deemed sufficient reasons to justify me in 
following out my aims. 1 felt convinced that I would 
never be a successful merchant (my friends' opinion to 
the contrary notwithstanding) because I never had a 
taste for business. I have struggled hard against my 
dislike for it, but in vain. 

At first 1 concluded to devot.e myself to poetry en- 
tirely and make my debut as an author of rhymes, but 
I am convinced that the undertaking would be too 
difficult. It is not an easy matter to win a fair degree 
of success at prose writing, but at rhyming the chances 
at the outset are ten to one against success. When 
young I took a delight in rhyming and that feeling 
has clung to me ever since. I love to express myself 



6 PREFACE. 

in short, pithy sentences, and find that rhyme is ad- 
mirably adapted to that purpose. I think that rhym- 
ing is an easy matter when you determine beforehand 
wliat you wish to say. At least I find it so. The first 
consideration is to have an idea, the second considera- 
tion to express it. The majority of my poems are 
melancholy. I am sorry to say that melancholy has 
become a confirmed trait of my character. Perhaps 
other scenes and a little sunshine will change that 
mood. 

I am not at all sanguine as to my success at the 
start. I do not expect to be as lucky as Byron, who 
woke up one morning and found himself famous. 
No ; I am content to win my way to success, if I win 
it at all, slowly and gradually. 

Much that I have written I have destroyed, not 
deeming it worthy of notice. Several compositions 
now contained in my book, one of which is the 
"Ode to Melancholy," I also contemplated destroying, 
yet, had I done so, my book would have been more 
meager than it is, and it is meager enough now in all 
truth. 

There is no great merit in my sketch entitled "My 
travels in Germany." The only merit I claim for it is 
truth. Yours truly. 

BEN. 



CONTENTS. 



c~~fif "i 



Page. 
To the Reader 5 

Martha 16 

To the Weeping Willow 18 

The Influence of Genius Upon Fame 19 

Apostrophe to the Muse 21 

Louise 24 

All is Dead 25 

Lines on Edgar Allan Poe 26 

Ode to Melancholy 28 

My Affinity 11 

What Genius Is , 33 

My Travels in Germany 42 




"^^^^IW^ 



fr^s^" 



BEN'S POEMS. 



MY AFFINITY. 



A DREAM. 

Explanation: Soon as the imagination begins to 
ripen we all form to ourselves some beau ideal of the 
fair spirit which we desire as our earthly minister, 
and somewhat capriciously proportion our admiration 
to living shapes according as the beau ideal of our 
fancy is more or less approached. Beauty of a stamp 
that is not familiar to our dreams may win our 
homage, but it does not kindle an emotion that almost 
seems to belong to memory itself. In this poem of 
mine I have endeavored to- portray the beau ideal of 
my fancy, yet such a vague, sfiadowy phantom of the 
brain will not bear a too close transcription. 



THE DREAM. 



'Twas on a gloomy winter morn, 

Just when day began to dawn, 

That a maiden stood and gazed intent 

Upon the cheerless firmament. 

ISlie stood upon a lofty ledge 

That uprose from the water's edge 

Many hundred feet below — 

Down there the northern sea did tlow, 

Far, far away as one could see 

All was vague immensity. 

In the atmosphere dull gray 

Great clouds scurried light away. 

Those wayward children of the air 

Swept impetuous here and there. 

11 



12 BEI>J'8 POEMS. 

Eroin north and south and east and west 
They ever eager onward pressed. 
In the distance down below 
Ceaselessly the sea did flow, 
Ceaselessly did it flow on 
To where it met the horizon. 
There the fast approaching day 
Was creeping up the heaven gray. 
Soon a fitful light was seen 
(With a scarce developed sheen) 
Ton a huge cloud's ragged edge — 
'Twas Aurora's morning pledge. 
Quick rose the wind loud to proclaim 
That at last the morn had came. 
Blythe and merry then it whistled, 
And shrilly piped and deeply sizzled. 
Then it 'gan to weep and wail, 
And worked itself into a gale. 
And now the cold green sea below, 
Its mettle also fain would show. 
It angrily began to roar. 
And lashed the lonely, rocky shore. 
Into the caverns waveworn, wild. 
It surged with bold and mighty tide. ^ 
The hollow caverns loud did groan 
And boom as if with thunder tone. 
The winds more loudly then would hiss 
And yell as if with greater bliss. 
The billows leapt the higher with rage 
And deadliest warfare seemed to wage. 
But now the lingering sun arose 
And watched amused the silly foes. 
Her face crimsoned o'er with glee 
And beamed with much benignity. 
High and higher she came dancing 
Rendering nature bright — entrancing. 
Her beams were scattered left and right 
And flooded ev'rything with light. 
She awoke the gray sea mew 
Which screamed as o'er the wave it flew. 
The gannet, curlew, pyot — all 
Wakened to her morning call. 



BEWS POEMS. 13 

The bold and rugged promontory 
She clothed in a robe of glory. 
She drove the gloom of night away, 
And ushered in the full bright day. 

While thus the maiden stood intent, 
Gazing 'pon the firmament, 
A wailing sound came from below — 
A sound of utter human woe. 
It came not from the yelling wind, 
That still railed on with passion blind, 
And beat against the promontory, 
AVhich stood silent in its glory; 
It came not from the booming cave. 
Eternal lapped by ocean wave, 
In whose recesses, hidden deep. 
Creatures strange their vigil keep ; 
Nor came it from the rocky shore, 
Upon whose strand forevermore 
The surging water spends its force 
And sudden checks its headlong course. 
It was an infant's moving wail, 
Borne upward by the morning gale. 
The child was to the waves a prey, 
Which bore it to the sea away. 
Its tiny arms were outstretched, 
As if in an appeal wretched. 
Its frame hither, thither tossed, 
'Neath a mighty wave seemed lost. 
The maiden from the ledge on high 
Downward cast her pitying eye, 

Whish ! ! something darted thro' the air. 
Crash ! ! something struck the water there. 
Something through the waves did glide 
Deep into the sea caves wide. 
The waters o'er it steamed and boiled 
Bubbles formed and eddies whirled. 
The tumult tho' soon being o'er 
The waves rolled onward as before. 
At length the deep its prey upheaving 



14 BEJS'S POEMS. 

Two white arms quick 'gan cleaving 
The mighty waters strong aside— 
The girl had braved the ocean's tide. 
From the dizzy, dangerous height, 
(To look up even dazed the sight) 
The girl had boldly downward leapt, 
For pity in her heart had crept. 
She gazed about then swam away 
To where the helpless infant lay. 
She nerved her arms so frail yet fair, 
And gathered strength from sheer despair. 
When down three times the child had went 
She grasped it ; but its life was spent. 
At all events though she would save 
Its body from a watery grave. 
Once more she braced those arms so fair 
And gained the sliore by fortune rare. 
The infant lay beside her dead — 
All signs of life from it had fled. 
]Sro words her misery could tell — 
]N"o woe like her's is known in hell. 
She hugged the child against her breast 
And closer strained and closer prest. 
She kissed its lips, its hands, its eyes. 
The while half choked with sobs and sighs. 
She laughed, she wept, she raved in turn, 
. And in her eyes hot tears did burn. 
But what availed her sorrow sore? — 
The child breathed not one breath the more. 
She regarded sad the waters wide, 
And low and piteously then cried. 
The mighty but yet cruel ocean 
Heeded not her deep emotion. 
No pity did its voice express— 
What cared it for her distress ? 
The wind still yelled unceasingly, 
And seemed to mock her misery. 
The sea birds swept all heedless by. 
And had for her no pitying eye. 
E'en the air, most piercing cold, 
ISJ^ot one pang from her would withhold. 
Pity, pity there was none 



BEN'S POEMS. 15 

Erom anything beneath the sun. 

The maiden's form was round and lithe, 
And yielding as a willow wythe. 
Each lirah appeared as if love set — 
A glimpse of it would love beget. 
Her thigh was full and fairly broad, 
And with power seemed well stored. 
. Her ankle was as thin as paper, 
But broadened as it up did taper. 
Her tiny feet were good to view, 
And had a salmon fish's hue. 
Her mouth was like a rosebed red. 
In which only sweets are bred. 
Her breath was fragrant as a flower 
When moistened by a summer shower. 
Her eyes were of a clear light blue — 
Love suffused them through and through ; 
In their depths flowed poetry 
In unmeasured quantity. 
When gazing 'pon their lovely sheen 
They conjured uj) a summer dream 
Where all is hope and joy and light 
And unspeakable delight. 
Their hue was sweet as wife's first child 
Which 'pon her knee sits and doth smile, 
And foolish crow and goo and gaa 
And try to say "papa! mama!" 
They were just as sweet as marriage jiight. 
That time of most intense delight. 
When waves of bliss rise higher and higher. 
Then in a slippery sea expire. 
Her voice was soft as music strains. 
Whose thrilling, well-attuned refrains 
Soothe the moonlit autumn night. 
And call up mem'ries golden, bright. 
'Twas clearer far than songs Tyrolean, 
And softer far than harps ^olian. 
But now her voice no joy did know^ 
Her heart, alas ! had burst with woe. 
She wailed. 'Twas like the gale 



16 BEJS'S POEMS. 

That sobbing soughs o'er northern seas. 

She moaned. I heard the winds arise 

From the mighty ocean's tide. 

They gathered from the sea caves pride, 

And, mingling in a hollow heap. 

They swept the air and pmed; 

And did fret, lament, and weep. 

Then gathering for a tornado sweep. 

They moaned low and lower. 

Then sunk. Suddenly howled, howled, howled, 

And boomed, and boomed, and boomed, 

And crashed, or ashed— collapsed. 



MARTHA. 



A SCOTTISH LOVE SKETOH. 

I knew a Scottish Highland maiden 

Whose waving auburn hair was laden 

With smell of fragrant fresh-mo w^n hay, 

Hereyes! dancing little elfs were they. 

Her mouth was just a ripe red rose, 

But far more luscious, goodness knows. 

Upon her lips there sat love's dew 

Begging the fond swain to woo. 

No shape like hers was ever found. 

It was so lithe, and firm and round. 

Her carriage was so queenly — great, ^ 

To see it would your sight elate. 

Scarce sixteen years the lassie knew 

And though innocent yet saucy too. 

She had. Oh ! such a spirit 

That e'en the wild winds might well fear it. 

That spirit lofty and so bold, 

Dared men to bend it or to mold. 

Unto herself did Martha vow 

Kever to man's will to bow. 

She stubbornly resolved to rove, - 

(Like deer on the Highland heights above) 

In undisturbed felicity ; 



BEN'S POEMS. 17 

Untrameled, wild, alone and free. 
This lassie innocent, yet wild, 
By worldly arts was undefiled. 
She knew not fear, nor grief, regret. 
And had no hopes to make her fret. 
She cared not for the laddies braw — 
" Would give no whustle for them a'." 
Her confidence she would not share, 
Not she indeed. " No ne'r! no ne'r!" 
There came a lad, in years not old. 
With pensive air, of pleasing mould— 
A sentimental sort of creature, 
With romance writ on ev'ry feature. 
Insensibly a strong love chain 
Ere long bound this confiding twain. 
The lassie much did storm and frown. 
But, sad to tell, love would not down. 
Her mood, ever blithe and jolly. 
Now gave way to melancholy. 
Alas ! alas ! her spirit wild 
Now was tame as any child. 
She only cared for solitude 
To there beguile her lonely mood. 
From her heart, oppressed drear, 
Ever rose the passive tear. 
Continually she did pray 
For death to carry her away. 
Her face grew pinched, thin, and pale. 
And her health began to fail. 
She grew listless and supine, 
And her eyes were red with cryin'. 
Her pride! where to did it flee so fast? 
She stood perplexed, amazed, aghast. 
Her mind was sorely racked and riven, 
And to consternation given. 
Endless she did sigh and brood, 
Till suddenly she changed her mood 
And said: "This passion I will kill! 
rilkillit, an'l will, Iwill!" 
She secured each truant tear. 
And. banished every sneaking fear. 
She murdered ev'ry struggling sob, 



18 BEN'S POEMS. 

And bade her heart less wildly throb. 
She fierce suppressed those wicked sighs, 
And dried her dancing elfin eyes. 
Each and every harmless sniffle 
Euthlessly she tried to stifle. 
Though her heart felt much oppressed 
And fluttered wild within her breast, 
Yet Cupid stern was reprimanded. 
, And to fly away commanded. 
The Highland lassie wished to rove 
Unfettered by the god of love. 



TO THE WEEPING WILLOW. 



1. 
Willow, willow, wherefore weepest 

Thou ever o'er the graves of men ? 
Oh, how steadfastly thou keepest 

Thy lonely vigil over them. 

2. 

The long years come and then they go. 
And still thou stand'st untired by ; 

Thou see'st nought but human woe, 
And pain and grief and misery. 



Is it therefore that thou droopest, 
And weepest on forever more ; 

Is it therefore that thou stoopest. 
So sadly o'er the moldering corse ? 

4. 

Oh, willow, willow, cease your sighing 
Tor souls that from this earth have fled ; 

There is a pleasure sweet in dying — 
For happy only are the dead. 



BEN'S POEMS. 19 

5. 

On this earth there is too much sorrow 

For sensitive and loving hearts ; 
They hope to-day, despair to-morrow, 

And yet are made of finest parts. 

6. 

Yes, willow, willow, cease your sighing 

For the unconscious happy dead ; 
Life's poetry begins when dying. 

When all earthly feeling 's fled. 



THE INFLUENCE OP GENIUS UPON FAME. 



In Truth is Fame the fickle goddess, 
For she seldom smiles at will ; 

Altho' to rule her very hard is — 
Win her, she'll not treat you ill. 

2. 

Our goddess when in love is tender, 
And knows well how to allure ; 

To Genius doubtless she'll surrender, 
If the FLAME in him is pure. 

3. 

But 'tis not the poetic dreamer 
Who shall win her prized embrace ; 

Kor shall the bard of odd demeanor 
In her heart obtain a place. 

4. 

All at first will she receive, 
(Oh but she's a sly coquette!) 

Yet many of them she'll deceive, 
Then their love will hate beget. 



20 BEN'S POEMS. 

5. 

Hosts of lovesick mortals woo her 

In many curious ways ; 
They all come rushing eager to her, 

With their stories, poems, plays. 

6. 

To be in first they lively scramble. 
And rude shove each other by ; 

Their glaring eyeballs savage ramble 
O'er the field of rivalry. 

7. 

The goddess to one bard says : " Friend, 
I own I love your chiming lays ; 

But alas! you've much to mend 
Ere you'll earn my honest praise." 

8. 

Then bowing, scraping, comes another. 
To whom she makes this love avow'l : 

*' Your verse is sad enough, my brother, 
To make e'en a dead dog howl." 

9. 

A third advances, sweetly smiling — 

Full of confidence is he; 
She says to him : " Your verse beguiling 

Smells too much of pedantry." 

10. 

A fourth comes eager to the scratch — 

A novelist from France ; 
" Miss Fame," says he, " let's make a match; 

With me life's a romance." 

11. 

The goddess says : " Notoriety, here, 

(My sister) seeks a lover ; 
Take her, oh my novelist dear — 

Your affinity you'll discover." 



BEN'S POEMS. 21 

12. 

Thus the army comes, advancing. 

To the goddess, one by one ; 
At each one's merits quickly glancing, 

To her gude man she doth come. 

13. 

She finds a bard whose beaming eye 

Is full of Genius fire ; 
She finds 'tis her afliinty— 

The god of her desire. 

14. 

She calls him to her lofty throne, 

And throws o'er him the laurel ; 
The rest they make a rush for home. — 

Good folks, pray heed the moral ! 



AN APOSTROPHE TO THE MUSE. 



1. 

My own beloved steadfast Muse, 

Oh pray forsake me not. 
I feel unhappy ; don't refuse 

To cheer my miserable lot. 

2. 

Why feels my heart so very sad r* 
What, oh what can cheer me ? 

In truth I am a luckless lad, 
For joy comes not oft near me. 

3. 

My love for you folks deem most strange- 
All tell me to forsake you; 

But my devotion cannot change— 
My Muse, I'll never shake you. 



22 BEIS'8 POEMS, 

4. 

I might have been a richer lad 

Had I a taste for barter ; 
Unhappily I never had 

A bias in that quarter. 

5. 

And thus I'm doomed to live alone— 

By no one e'en respected ; 
Friends, companions I have none— 

By kinfolks e'en neglected. 

6. 

Yet, oh yet I won't despair, 

But stubborn struggle on ; 
I'll never halt, I firm declare. 

Till my destined task is done. 

7. 

Some friends grieve vy^hile others sneer, 
And some deem me demented. 

For those who grieve I have a tear — 
Their grief, I much lament it. 



But yet my fate I cannot change. 
My taste I cannot alter ; 

I love my task, however strange. 
And must not, cannot falter. 

9. 

Ko! come joy or woe, sun or rain, 
My conscience I'll obey ; 

Come hunger, misery, or pain. 
Its voice I cannot drive away. 



BBN'S POEMS. 23 

10. 

This is a dreary, heartless world — 

Hope now, despair to-morrow ; 
When for wisdom we have toiled 

It doth bring us only sorrow. 

11. 

I'm quite sick of the hollow cant, 

Called " worldly education ;" 
To me it seems a comfort scant — 

A sad congloQieration. 

12. 

Some men will swear by all things dear 

They love you like a brother; 
To say so they've an object clear — 

Some selfish aim or other. 

13. 
Fair women call upon the fates 

To witness how they love you ; 
Soon you'd flee to Barbary States, 

So that they can't reprove you. 

14. 

If you're rich then folks will flatter 

And shamelessly deceive you ; 
The more money that you scatter 

The kinder they'll receive you. 

15. 
But when the shekels all are spent 

Your best friends will desert you ; 
It is too late now to repent — 

Adversity hath virtue. 

16. 
Oft fame endeavors to allure 

Fools to its treach'rous light. 
Did fame ever yet secure 

A man from hate or spite ? 



24 BEN'S POEMS. 

17. 

Some patient mortals learn to rhyme, 
And thus seek gold or glory ; 

It is in truth a waste of time — 
Youth, wait until you're hoary. 

18. 

The best of rhymes are only words 
That flow with music measure; 

Their harmony to some affords 
Perhaps an hour's pleasure. 

19. 

Put good sense into tuneful verse, 

Or put it into story ; 
Then you've a chance — to put it terse — 

To capture sneers or glory, 

20. 

But now, my wearied, tortured Muse, 
I'll cease this rambling strain ; 

Its incoherence, pray, excuse— 
I'll not offend again. 



LOUISE. 



I knew a girl in by-gone time. 

Who came from Albion's foggy clime. 

To know her was to know but joy, 

She was so fairy-like and coy. 

Her voice was clearer than a flute. 

And tender as a soft-stringed lu^e. 

When she laughed the merry strain. 

Made the welkin ring again. 

The laughter's strain at nrst was soft, 

Then it rippled up aloft. 

And trill, and trill and trilled away, 

Sweet as music e'er could play. 

Her eyes were of that clear, deep blue 



BEN'S POEMS. 25 

Which one in arctic skies can view, 
Her hands were shapely small and white — 
Her form, love rounded, graceful, slight. 
Her ankle, tapering and trim. 
Would lure a pious man to sin. 
In short, she was a lovely flower, 
Whose proper place was in the bower. 
Though we may never meet again, 
Louise, thy image I'll retain. 



AX.L. IS DEAD! 



1. 

The wind is mournfully crying— 
The trees are bending and sighing — 
The dreary winter is dying — 

All is dead ! dead ! dead ! 

2. 

What are the winter winds saying? 
And why so turbulent playing? 
Are they for the summer praying?— 
V 'All is dead ! dead ! dead ! 

\ 3. 

Through the bushes, sadly swushing, 
The blasts are frantic'ly rushing — 
Their groans and cries never hushing; 
All is dead! dead! dead! 

4. 
Dried leaves are hurriedly sweeping. 
And o'er the ground crisp leaping; 
A dull monotone keeping : — 

All is dead ! dead ! dead ! 

5. 
The long gaunt trees are moaning. 
And soft and dismally groaning — 
Like bees sustainedly droning : — 
All is dead ! dead ! dead ! 



26 BEN'S POEMS, 

6. 

The thaw on the ground is lying, 
And mists o'er the hills are hieing — 
Gray clouds through the air are flying. 
All is dead ! dead ! dead ! 



Yet a breath of spring e'en now dwells in the air- 
'Tis hope piercing through an age of despair. ; 
But this breath doth only more sadly declare: — 
All is dead ! dead ! dead ! 

8. 

Yet soon will the spring come bounding along, 
When nature again with beauty will throng ; 
Then no more shall be heard the dreary song: — 
All is dead ! dead ! dead ! 



LINES ON BDG-AR ALLEN POB. 



Poor Poe, though you now lie lowly. 
Yet lives your Muse so melancholy. 
When alive your heart was tender. 
But drear as nature in December, 
Yours was, in truth, a sorry lot. 
One not to be so soon forgot. 
The world to you was most unkind, 
And to your merits stubborn^blind. 
By no one was you understood, 
(Indeed who can know Genius' mood ?) 
So, 'stead of smiles you got a frown. 
And sneers instead of laurel crown. 
Y'ou was wretched, hungry, cold, 
And suffered agonies untold. 
But no one gave your wants attention. 
Since your strait you would not mention. 
Alas! though poor, yet you was proud, 
And never spoke your hap aloud. 
Since no one would your worth discern, 



BEN'S POEMS. 27 

So no one's favor could you earn. 
Then you grew gloomy and despairing ; 
Desperate— for notiiing caring. 
You took to drink to drown your woes, 
And soon the grave o'er you did close. 

Whoe'er has seen the Arctic clime, 
Where nature's solitudes sublime- 
Where earth is ghostly, grisly, weird- 
Where men's hearts can ne'er be cheered ? 
The landscape there is dreary— grim ; 
And the skies are leaden— dim. 
Yet there the winds, though keen, are pure, 
And sweep o'er mountain and the moor 
With wild and melancholy wailing— 
To wake sadness never failing. 
Snow covers all that vast bleak space. 
And hides the verdure's ev'ry trace. 
Yet 'neath those snows so crystalline 

Slumber fires of devouring kind, 
Whose flames arisen, having sway, 
Burn and eat the hapless clay. 

Poor Poe! thy Muse was just as chaste 
As snows upon the Arctic waste. 
The melancholy ^N'orthern sky, 
Like thy music, makes us sigh. 
Unconsciously thy notes complain 
In a weird, unearthly strain. 

Yet sleep thou soft, our own dear Poe ; 
For thou art safe from ev'ry woe. 
Not one more pang nor one more care 
Shall e'er again fall to thy share. 
Though on earth thy task is ended— 
Though thy clay with clay is blended— 
Yet now thy long-neglected name 
Is written in the Book of Fame. 



28 BEJS'S POEMS. 

ODE TO MELANOHOLY. 



Thou seem'st to love me Goddess holy, 
Calm and peaceful Melancholy ! 
Why dost thou so often woo me, 
Giving to me pleasure gloomy ? 
I have parted from my mother, 

From my father, sister, brother. 

Altho' relatives surround me. 

Their attentions serve to wound me. 

I'm now of age, thank God, and free ; 

I care for none, none care for me. 

My lot's my own, and I do choose 

To dedicate it to the Muse. 

Though all do sneer and tell me nay, 

I do not care, I'll have my way. 

My muse till now, was doomed to languish. 

And my soul thus filled with anguish. 

But freely now shall I express 

The thoughts that i did long repress. 

Alas ! my boyhood days are fled, 

And manhood's followed in their stead. 

My youthful hopes were all vain dreams; — 

My very nature altered seems. 

When young, I thought the heavens blue. 

Encompassed nought but what was true. 

What people said would I believe, 

And ne'er imagined, they'd deceive. 

To me, life seemed a rosy dream, 

A neverchanging happy scene. 

All things on high, and here below. 

Were parts, I thought, of one gay show. 

That dream has vanished, sad to tell. 

And what then was heaven now is hell. 

I find that friendship's but a name— 

A romance bright, but oh ! how vain ! 

Sweet love, alas! is but a blind, 

A lure to trick a foolish mind. 

Men will lie and cheat for gain 



BEJS'S FOEMIS, 29 

Without the faintest blush of shame ; 
The fairest women oft lack virtue, 
And try their utmost to pervert you. 

Few poets seek the laurel crown — 
They crave but riches or renown. 
Patriotism's an illusion ; 
Politics a sad delusion. 
Men love their country less than gain, 
And placemen seek but power or fame; 
He who is subtlest to deceive. 
The greatest success will achieve. 
He who can trick with mien most bold, 
In men's regard gains lirmest hold. 
But why continue this recital ? , 
It can bring one no requital. 

ISTo mortal will I love again ; 

Por in my heart the Muse shall reign. 

Beauty's charms no more shall sway me — 

At least in this my heart' 11 obey me. 

My dream of friendship, too, is o'er ; 

I once had friends — they're mine no more. 

I've tried these friends, and found them wanting— 

Their friendship's ghost my soul is haunting. 

I'll walk alone o'er life's broad main, 

Not sharing joy nor sharing pain ; 

I'll bear my burdens all alone, 

And none shall ever hear me groan. 

I own that once I did love fame, 

And prized the glory of a name. 

But what is fame ? A gilded toy— 

A plaything for a foolish boy. 

Pame brings envy, malice, hate. 

Are its rewards then adequate ? 

On nothing do I now set store — 

Ambition dwells in me no more. 

Men's pursuits seem little, vain ; 

And their existence— what's its aim? 

Soon they'll die and be forgotten 

Mayhap ere their corpse is rotten. 



30 BEN'S POEMS. 

Come, I'll be joyous, heedless, gay. 
And lightly thus pass life away. 
Why hold the Muse in close subjection, 
And numb my mind with deep reflection? 
Why not strive to be in fashion, 
And follow trifles with a passion ? 
Life then doth seem a pleasant play, 
Continuing from day to day. 
Yet, no! I scorn the fickle throng. 
Which can't distinguish right from wrong. 
It fawns and waits upon the great; 
The poor, though, it doth cordial hate. 
Misfortunes claims it don't allow- 
To success only doth it bow. 
How could I wear a smiling mood. 
When tears would do me far more good ? 
Let those who will fawn and flatter, 
I am made of blunter matter. 
I do not heed public opinion. 
And ne'er will bow to its dominion. 
A straw for fashion's sick decrees ! 
I follow not the other geese. 
Yet I do not despise mankind, 
For.'mid the bad much good I find; 
But I'll keep hidden in my shell 
And watch the world around me well, 
I'll cease wishing, hoping, sighing. 
And only when I find I'm dying, 
Will I call old Nick, and then, 
I'll howl once more, and gasp Amen ! 






_^^^^^. 



^@J 




MWW^\\WTOTO\W\* WW 




5^" W 




■^"^ 



^^"^^"^^^ 



ESSAY. 

■WHAT GENIUS IS. 



Dr. Johnson says : " The true genius is a mind of 
large general powers accidentally determined to some 
particular direction." 

This is an excellent general definition, yet not 
quite comprehensive enough. 

Genius, according to my humble judgement, is 
neither more nor less than great good sense. Great 
good sense is an intellectual attribute— the result of a 
just equilibrium of all our faculties, spiritual and 
moral. It is a natural endowment and therefore op- 
posed to everything artificial, circumstantial, or ac- 
quired. Furthermore, it is an altogether different 
quality from the mere sagacity of a lawyer or the 
shrewdness of a politician. It is in fact, the consen- 
trated essence of many combined qualities. 

Genius is not learning. Learning or knowledge is 
acquired, but genius (as beforesaid) is a natural en- 
dowment, or in other words, the gift of nature. Kot 
all men of genius were educated. Improbable as it 
may seem, there have been men of genius who could 
neither read nor write. These men had a habit of rea- 
soning more justly, and consequently of divining better 
than thousands of their fellow men^ and therein lay 
the secret of their superiority. On the other hand a 
person may be ever so learned, but that does not render 
him a genius. Genius is a strangely wonderful thing, 
and is understood only by the happy possessor him- 
self. The vast majority of mankind has not the 
faintest conception what it is. Learned men know no 
more about it than do uneducated people. It is an 
enigma to all but the initiated. Sir Bulwer Lytton 
says: 

' Genius, the Pythean of the Beautiful, 
Leaves its large truths a riddle to the dull. 
From eyes profane a vail the iris screens. 
And fools on fools still asks what Hamlet means. 

33 



34 ESSAY. 

Wordsworth says : 

Time, place, and action with pains may be wrought ; 
But genius must born, and never can be taught. 

The multitude, not understanding what genius is, has 
no faith in its existence ; and hence it is that men of 
genius are ever compelled to suffer the world's deri- 
sion and abuse. Columbus, Galileo, Shakespeare, and 
in fact all men of greatest genius, were derided and 
abused from the mere fact of not being understood. 
There are men of mighty genius living to-day who 
have the same difficulties to contend against that Co- 
lumbus and Galileo and Shakespeare have contended 
against before them. There are writers, musicians, 
sculptors, painters, actors, etc., living to-day, who are 
more or less endowed with the divine afflatus; yet 
they are so calumniated, vilified, and belittled by their 
fellow men that they lose all courage, and give up 
their undertakings in despair. The way they bear 
their trials, though, is a true test of their worth. If 
they have true genius, no obstacles, however great, 
will make them halt in their career, because the race- 
horse spirit of emulation urges them on against their 
will. They cannot halt, because a certain something, 
independent of their will, irresistibly impels them on- 
ward. But men of second-rate ability have not the 
true mettle, and when crossed in their career grow 
sulky and bad-teoipered, and lose all ambition to win 
the goal. They believe success to be a game of chance, 
and then curse their ill-luck. They are short-sighted, 
though. Success is never won by chance. Genius 
wins success only by overcoming superhuman obsta- 
cles. Men of true genius bear their trials bravely, be- 
cause they understand why humanity puts so many 
obstacles in their path. They perceive it is done from 
ignorance. I sincerely believe it to be the decree of a 
wise Providence that men of genius should bear the 
sticks, stones, and unhealthy eggs of non-appreciation, 
so that they may become purified and greater in the 
end. What ■ atter days of cruel toil, nights of de- 
spondency, sickness, want, and all manner of suffer- 
ing, when a glorious reward is to be gained at last ? 



ESSAY. 35 

To possess humanity's regard, affection, aj^^e and even 
veneration forever— this is genius' reward. A sweeter 
reward no man can have. 

The powers of a man of genius are general, and not 
confined to a particular sphere of action. He regards 
all matters, whether they relate to the sciences, arts, 
religions, business, or events in every-day life, with 
great good sense. He takes a common-sense view of 
everything. 

There is a vast difference between him and a man 
of capacity or ability. A man of capacity or ability 
may become great by promulgating thoughts that he 
has acquired by study or observation, but a genius 
needs only to disclose his own original thought (ac- 
quired without effort) to win universal appreciation. 
A man of ability follows rules and precedents but a 
genius generally creates his own rules and laws. 
The former is an imitator, the latter is original. The 
laws and rules of any pursuit may be acquired by ob- 
servation or study, and any man of ordinary capacity 
who possesses the qualities of speculation and ab- 
straction may achieve good results by showing 
superior aptitude in that which he undertakes. Great 
praise is due to any man who by industry and study 
produces results to benefit the many. Yet such men 
though praiseworthy, are not to be compared to men 
of genius, because they are not capable of producing 
as great results. Since men of genius reason deeper, 
they can perceive results clearer, and, therefore, 
generally advance new ideas or make fresh disco ver- 
ries. Men of ability, though, generally confine them- 
selves to elaborating old truths. 

A man of genius though not entirely dependent 
upon art for success is materially benefitted by it. 
Art implies a disposition of mind to use artificial 
means to attain an end. Genius discovers the thought 
and art dresses it in becoming raiment. To achieve 
the highest results both are very much dependent 
upon each other. 

Men of genius never know that the divine afflatus 
lives within them, till it is revealed to turn by others 
or by a chance circumstance. An author, for instance, 



36 ESSAY. 

delineates the character of a man of genius in his book 
which bears a close resemblance to the reader's own. 
The reader finds that the person portrayed in the book 
has the same habits of thought and conduct that he 
has, and that he is in fact a perfect counterpart of 
himself ; he sees his own soul reflected as in a mirror. 
Thus he learns to know himself. The chrysalis of his 
genius remained undeveloped in its shell till an accid- 
ental ray of light gave it warmth and being. An un- 
defined feeling told him that he was born to soar, yet 
he knew not how. At last there came the ray of light 
which awoke him to life and action, and then his 
genius took wing and soared to heaven freely, boldly 
and confidently. 

Men of genius were born to lead their fellow men. 
They are the prophets of humanity, and are second 
only to that mysterious worker, that men call God. 








« A If «J»M« 



"o^-T 



"50" 



TRAVELS. 

MY TRAVELS IN GERMANY. 



It was in the smiling month of May, of the year 
1868, when my father, mother, six brothers and sisters, 
and our nurse embarked on the North German Lloyd 
steamship " Deutschland," for Bremen. I was but a 
small boy then, 13 years of age, and the thought of 
making a trip to Europe made me feel mighty as an 
Emperor. How I swaggered and bragged, and put on 
heaps of airs to show my importance to the other 
small boys, I will not now stop to relate. Suffice it to 
say I felt good all over. 

We embarked on the " Deutschland," as beforesaid. I 
strode up and down the deck of the stately vessel and 
studied her anatomy intently. After a thorough in- 
vestigation I concluded that I would love to live on 
her forever. I remarked as much to my father, who 
only smiled at my simplicity. I asked a sailor, who 
was coiling a rope on the steerage deck, why there 
was so many cords tied to the mast aloft. Was it to 
keep tlie masts from falling overboard ? The sailor 
grinned at me, and said, " Of course !" 

Soon the vessel slowly glided out from her pier. At 
first I thought it was the pier that was deserting us, 
but, as the vessel swung out into the river, I found 
that the pier had not budged. I stood on deck holding 
my hat in one hand and a handkerchief in the other 
waving them both to our friends on the pier and 
shouting " good-bye ! good-bye! hooray! hooray!" At 
last our friends' faces were no longer to be dis- 
tinguished in the crowd, and I turned to gaze upon the 
scenery of New York Bay. The day was fair— a 
fairer one never dawned — and everything was corre- 
spondingly lovely The environs of New York never 
seemed more beautiful, though they are always beauti- 

39 



40 TRAVELS. 

ful and interesting. We passed Castle Garden, Gov- 
ernor's Island, Brooklyn, Bay Ridge, Fort Hamilton, 
and Fort Riclimond, and then our noble vessel, grace- 
fully gliding through the narrow^s, passed Coney 
Island and Staten Island. Ere long Sandy Hook, the 
last point of land was passed, and then the broad and 
heaving ocean lay before us. What a glorious specta- 
cle it was! Grand! noble! magnificent! The vessel 
began to heave a little now, and I began to feel "kind 
of funny," so I told my father. Ere long I began to 
feel funnier still, for things did not seem half as lovely 
as before. I experienced sea sickness now for the 
first tiaie. I did not like it all. I howled with fear, 
and wished I had never seen the plaguey mean ship. 
It was the ship's fault that I was sick, I thought, 
because she could have been made to stop rolling. 
I wasn't the only one in our family, though, who was 
sea-sick, and that thought was a great comfort to me. 
Soon as the last point of land faded from view my 
mother grew frightftned at the prospect of endless sky 
and \YSitGY, and hastened to her cabin with all speed. 
She cast herself upon the bed, and, in spite of all 
arguments and entreaties, would not stir from it till 
she was assured, after ten days, that the coast of 
England was in sight. When she saw the land fade 
away far in the distance, and naught about us but 
sky and water, the thouglit came to my mother that 
if anything happened to the ship we would be miles 
and miles away from help. The thought was terrible, 
and now to heighten her misery came sea-sickness 
beside. My mother was a much-abused lady then 
there was no doubt of it. Had the ocean withheld its 
tortures she might have overcome other ills, but old 
Keptune cares for nobody, not even for my mother. 
Our nurse, when she first stepped on board, felt de- 
lighted as myself with the ship, but, alas ! her rapture, 
like mine, soon gave way to misery. When the vessel 
began heaving, she pressed her hand against her stom- 
ach and said, "Oh ! oh !" in heart melting tones. Ere long 
she wished herself dead, or that she had never seen 
us because then she would never have been on this 
horrid old tub of a boat. My father felt not the least 



TRAVELS. 41 

twinge of sea-sickness, nor did any of my younger 
brothers and sisters. That I, the oldest of them all, 
should be sick, did not seem right to me. After a few 
days had passed, I felt all right again. Most of the 
time was passed on deck, where sea auoits, novel 
reading, and sight-seeing were indulged in. After 
ten days had passed a dim haze was seen by us upon 
the extreme verge of the horizon, and this the captain 
assured us was land. Once more I took my hat in hand 
and cried hooray till I grew hoarse. With that 
glimpse of land my gay spirits returned to me. The 
outlines of a rock-bound coast soon burst upon my 
admiring vision. It was the coast of England. Any 
land would have been welcome to me then, but a 
FOREIGN land was doubly welcome. "Hip, hip, 
hooray!" cried I enthusiastically, and flung my hat to 
the breeze, which nearly carried it overboard. 

In due course of time we anchored off Cowes, Isle of 
Wight. A breeze from shore was wafted to us laden 
with the smell of grass and flowers. It was salubri- 
ous. It quickened my pulses and braced my nerves, 
and I strode up and down the deck feeling strong as a 
lion. We anchored off Cowes for the night. The 
night came on quickly, and the stars came forth one 
by one. Thers was no moon. The reed-covered shore 
was but a biscuit-toss away, and it loomed up black in 
the gloaming. Narrow black-painted boats, carrying 
a green light at the bow and a yellow one at the stern, 
gracef ull , glided past our vessel. Not far from us the 
hulls of schooners and lighters could dimly be dis- 
cerned. On shore, lights were seen in every direction. 
Taken as a whole, the scene was a romantic one. It 
conjured up old Venice to my imagination, and I won- 
dered whether that famous city of the sea could pre- 
sent a scene half so entrancing as this. I did not 
retire to bed that night, but remained on deck to sur- 
feit myself with the sights. All was so novel and in- 
teresting to me that I could not sleep. Old Sol arose 
next morning smiling and blushing, and presented new 
pictures. Tall, bright-green blades of sea-grass, that 
lined the shore, were wet with huge dewdrops, and as 
the sunrays touched them they reflected all the colors 



42 TRAVELS. 

of the rainbow. And upon the good Queen's marine 
palace at Cowes, the Osborne House, Old Sol boldly 
cast his rays. First he burnished one window, then 
he took the same liberty with another, and another, 
and another, till every one of the many windows be- 
came flashing, dazzling mirrors of light. It was, in 
truth, a gorgeous spectacle. 

As the morning wore on we hove up our anchor 
again, and steamed for Bremerhaven, our destination. 
Having arrived there, a tug came alongside to tow the 
*' Deutschland" to her pier. The awkward Germans 
on board the tug seemed sorely distressed how to heave 
a rope on board our vessel. They ran back and forth 
aimlessly, like cockroaches in distress. Finally, they 
gathered in assembly upon the bow of their boat, to 
determine definitely upon a proper course of action. 
They decided to tie a small line to a large line, and 
then to toss the small line on board our ship. Their 
tact, shrewdness, and skill rendered them successful 
in the end, and we applauded them in a becoming 
manner. They did not acknowledge our civility, how- 
ever. 

Bremerhaven now claimed our attention. The town 
— a seaport — is old, battered, and time-stained. The 
houses are rickety and crickety and black, dirty and 
seedy-looking. Their roofs are huge and slanting as 
a young mountain. And then they cling to each other 
with deepest aifection. Should one of these dirty- 
looking time pets withdraw his loving support from 
his neighbor, what a fall there then would be. What 
boards, and beams, and -gables and spires, and nooks 
and crannies, and dirt and grime would at last take a 
tumble ! What a sad contemplation that would be for 
the townspeople. If that event was to happen, then 
new houses would have to be built, and new houses 
mean change and cleanliness, evils, alas ! to which the 
conservative people of Bremerhaven are not accus- 
tomed. 

As we set foot on shore we found a railroad train 
waiting to convey us to Bremen. I was much amused 
to see the little twopenny engine and the old-fashioned 
stage-coach cars that composed the train. The cars 



TRAVELS. 43 

soon moved away from the depot and clatter, 
clatter, clattered toward Bremen. In due time 
we arrived at that city. "Jiminy Gripes! what a 
strange place it is! " thought I. We engaged a fiacre 
(or a couple of them I think) and were hurried to the 
Hotel de I'Europe, where the family soon was made 
comfortable. 

Then my father, brother, and myself started out for 
a stroll. The streets were narrow and quaint-looking. 
There were numerous shops over which signs, bearing 
terrible hard names to pronounce, were creaking and 
groaning in the wind. Strange looking people wear- 
ing strange garments and using strange language were 
met with everywhere. 1 did not hear a single word of 
English spoken. Everyone— from the dirty faced street 
arab to the staid and sober merchant — spoke German. 
1 was more than surprise 1— I was astonished. "Here is 
something to tell the ]^ew York boys when I see 
them," thought I. Ere long I discovered something 
that nearly left me breathless with interest and de- 
light. It was a windmill, something that I had read 
much about but never seen. And here it was with its 
four black stilt-like legs, its black, fat little body and 
its four huge arms continually sawing the air. I im- 
portuned my father to lead us into it. In those days 
my father granted my lightest wish, so into the wind- 
mill we went. The miller, though surprised that any 
one should feel interested in so common a thing as a 
mill, received us courteously. He led us about the 
structure and took much pains to explain everything 
connected therewith to us. The mill room was low 
and rather confined, yet to me it seemed so cosy and 
homelife that I would have loved to live in it forever. 
We mounted a stairway and found ourselves close to 
the roof. Through an aperture the huge fans or arms 
could be seen tossing upward outside the building. 
There was an incessant creak, creak of the fans and a 
hum, hum, hum below stairs. After having satisfied 
oar curiosity we thanked the miller for his attention 
and departed. 

We next wended our way to a Eathskeller! A 
liathskeller is a vault or series of vaults where beer 



44 TRAVELS. 

and a variety of good things can be had for the mere 
payment thereof. These vaults are much like the 
underground passages of a convent or dungeon. They 
are paved with flagstones, and contain massive pillars. 
Successive rows of arches reach into the dim distance. 
Upon these arches are graven or inscribed legends 
fjom mythology or witty verses from the German lit- 
erature. We ordered "drei portion" bread, butter, 
cheese, and beer. The beer which was served in stone 
jugs was sparkling and delicious as the morning dew. 
I emptied my jug without winking and smacked my 
lips with satisfaction. My father said I would be- 
come a first-class Dutchman in time. I burst into 
loud and prolonged laughter. My father thought that 
I was laughing at his remark, but I was not. The 
fumes of the beer had mounted to my brain and made 
me feel queer. All eyes were turned upon me, but I 
gazed intently at the inscriptions upon the arches, and 
thus the good-natured assemblage present deemed 
them the cause of my merriment. I laughed louder 
and louder, and the people present were no doubt grat- 
ified to think that I could apprec ate ancient jokes. 
Not till long afterward did the elfects of the beer 
wear off. I was glad when we emerged from the 
vault to the bright daylight again. 
ii^^Our stroll was continued. We did not walk far 
when we came upon the market-place of the town. 
Here was another surprise for me. Instead of being 
under cover, the market was held in the open street, a 
large square being devoted to that purpose. Baskets 
containing wares of all kinds were placed on the side- 
walks, in the roadway, and in all manner of convenient 
and inconvenient places. Each^basket was presided 
over by an enterprising dame. Fruits, vegetables, but- 
ter, cheese, milk, eggs, bologna sausages, live fishes in 
tubs of water, smoked meats, live geese, chickens, ducks, 
etc., were here in profusion,' _ The market women were 
bargaining noisily, and kept up a ceaseless chatter and 
squabbling, in which the geese and other fowl joined. 
It was, in truth, an animated scene. I purchased two 
grotes worth of cherries from one of the market la- 
dies, and, beside the cherries, received a most bewitch- 



TRAVEL'S. 45 

iiig smile from her. The smile alone was worth two 
grotes. The lady did not make any extra charge for 
it, however. I'liere was a lady here who presided over 
a basket containing a cuiious kind of cheese. I was 
not long in scraping an acquaintance with her. The 
lady's name was Maria something, and the cheese's 
name was handkase. I tasted the cheese and found it 
heavenly. "Dutchmen know what is good, anyway!" 
said I to myself. Our family remained an entire week 
at Bremen, and thus I had many an opportunity to 
court the handkase lady's society. She always received 
me with a pleasant word of welcome. I thought con- 
siderable of her— looked upon her, in fact, as an old 
friend. She told me she made these handkase herself, 
and then my regard for her was boundless. Bremen 
held not her equal. Upon the last day of our stay at 
Bremen, I came to her and said : " Madam, our family 
leaves for Frankfort-on-the-Main to-day, where my 
brother and myself are to be put at school. I may 
never see you again, so please give me your best hand- 
kase !" She gave me the cheese, then hurriedly car- 
ried the corner of a dirty apron to her eye and drew 
several prolonged snuffles through her nose. She was 
crying, 1 thought. I tried to comfort her. "Please 
don't cry, madam. I'll come to Bremen some day or 
other and see you again ; see if 1 don't!" The effect of 
this little speech was electric upon her. She took the 
apron from her eye and not a trace of emotion was vis- 
ible upon her countenance. She gave me the last 
handkase, placed her huge paw in mine and said 
"adieu!" 

Old dame, when I meet thee. 
After many years. 
How shall I greet thee ? 

I shall greet thee with the same affection as of 
yore. Count on me ! 

The ride from Bremen to Frankfort-on-Main, in the 
railroad cars, was an interesting one. I will stop to 
relate an incident of it. Our family took possession of 
a second-class coupe, in which there was a solitary 
passenger, who looked upon our intrusion as an inva- 
sion of his rights. This solitary passenger was a stout 



46 TRAVELS. 

middle aged merchant bound for Frankfort. We 
children were very noisy, so he squeezed himself into 
a corner far from us as possible Notwithstanding 
OUR noise, and notwithstanding the rackety-clackety 
noise of the train, he soon fell asleep and snored 
loudly. Above his head was a rack which contained 
our portable language. Among our effects was a bas- 
ket of peaches which the younger children clamored 
for. I mounted upon an arm of the seat and took the 
basket from the rack. Unfortunately I slipped and 
brought the basket of peaches down with stunning 
force upon the stout gentleman's uncovered head. 
He shot up like a rocket and exclaimed: "Kreuz, Ge- 
witter, Donner, Wetter was ist das ?,' He glared at 
me and rubbed his head vigorously. My parents apol- 
ogized for my awkwarduess. and used their best efforts 
to mollify him. He accepted the apology and was 
easily appeased, but his actions when struck had been 
so comical that every now and again I burst into un- 
controllable fits of laughter. I was reprimanded, yet 
I could not control my merximent. As we neared 
Frankfort, however, my merriment subsided. My 
brother and I were to be put to school here for three 
years. Our parents were to leave us at Frankfort, 
and after seeing sights on the continent were to re- 
turn to New York, our home. The idea did not please 
me at all. I asked my father what would become of 
us if we were left alone among these savage foreign- 
ers. My father replied: "I do not know, I am sure!" 
This answer was far from consoling, and my mind 
grew troubled. A dark cloud of appreliension 
settled over me, and all my gay spirits tied. Not even 
the many interesting sights we saw as we entered 
Frankfort, could rouse me. After our family had 
been made cozy at an hotel in Frankfort, my father, 
mother, brother and myself rode to the school in a 
fiacre. The school-house which was situated on the 
Bruckhofstrasse, was a plain three-story granite build- 
ing. In my then frame of mood it seemed to me 
grim and ominous looking. We ascended a long flight 
of stone steps, and were ushered by a servant into a 
cozy reception-room. Mr. and Mrs. Blank, the propri- 



TRAVELS. 4n 

etors of the boarding-school (at Frankfort -called a 
pension) were there to meet us. Mr. Blank (his real 
nanie I omit) was rather a short, thickset gentleman 
having a close-clipped, ruddy beard, a frank and pleas- 
\^? countenance and wore gold-rimmed spectacles. 
At that time (the year 1868) he was about 40 years 
ot age. Mrs. Blank was also below the medium 
size, having brown hair that was smoothed back 
from her forehead, penetrating gray eyes, and heavv 
jaw; around her waist was tied a bunch of keys and a 
pair ot scissors which gave her a housewifely appear- 
ance. Mr. Blank and his wife received us kindly 
Arrangements for our board, tuition, &c., were soori 
completed. After a prolonged chat our parents rose 
to depart. We received a few necessary hints, such as 
to behave well, to obey Mr. and Mrs. Blank in every- 
thing to be diligent in our studies, to write home re- 
gularly &c., &c., and then our parents kissed us adieu 
and with the rest of the family that evening set off 
tor Pans. The dread event had come to pass then • 
we were left to the tender mercies of savage foreigners' 
A storm was gathering in my breast. After our par- 
ents had departed Mr. Blank in person conducted us to 
the room my brother and 1 were to occupy. The room 
was furnished with two beds, two chairs, one wash- 
ing basin, and a bureau. There were forty pensioners 
in the school beside my brother and I. Mr. Blank left 
us. I felt homesick, sad and dispirited. I threw my- 
self upon the bed and then the storm which had long 
been pent up, burst in all its fury. I yelled as though 
I was being murdered. My brother felt calm and un- 
ruffled as though he liad been at school in Frankfort 
all his life. He told me to stop yelling. I yelled 
i^.V.4.®^.*^.^^ before. Mr. Blank rushed up in alarm. 
What ails you, my lad ?" asked he. " I don't want to 
stay m this nasty old school, I want to go to Paris 
with my parents," sobbed I. " Console yourself, my ' 
lad, said Mr. Blank, " you will go to Paris some fine 
day with all the boys here to see the sights. This did 
not comfort me much and I bawled loud as ever. Soon 
1 heard eager voices whispering to each other outside 
the door. A delegation of students were there inter- 



48 TRAVELS. 

estecl to know whether I was being thrashed so soon. 
One student remarked: "What a yell that was: I 
wonder do all the New York Indians yell like that ?" 
My brother heard the remark and it riled him. He 
stepped out into the corridor and demanded to know 
who passed that remark. The students did not un- 
derstand my brother who spoke in English (he could 
not speak a Word of German) therefore none answered 
him. My brother misinterpreted their silence and 
scowled at them to show his contempt for their sup- 
posed cowardice. One of the students asked my 
brother in broken English ; "for why you make so ?" 
imitating his scowl. My brother who thought the 
student was deriding him planted a blow on his ear by 
way of answer. There was a lively scene then. All 
the students gesticulated excitedly and shouted to 
their comrade: "Druf Albert! Druf!" (At him Al- 
bert! At him!) Albert did not know whether all 
American chaps carried pistols and bowie knives so he 
hesitated. My brother remarked to him in a confident 
manner: "I can thrash a ddzen Dutchmen like you!" 
Fortunately Albert did not understand the remark 
or he might have been more frightened than h« was. 
The other students urged him on to the slaughter. 
Albert gritted his teeth and sailed into the fray. He 
bit, scratched, kicked and poked my brother in the ribs 
with his thumbs. My brother struck right out from 
the shoulder. At last Albeit received a blow in the 
eye that made him see little green blazes and it sick- 
ened him. He slunk away utterly discomfited. The 
other students set up a howl of commiseration and 
intended to fall upon my brother in a body, but he 
wisely ran into our room, and told Mr. Blank, who 
stepped into the corridor and dispersed the angry 
crowd. 

There were young men from many countries in the 
pension. There were about a dozen Americans, 
English, French, Italian, and German lads; also one 
Wallachian. Many took private lessons at home in 
the pension, while others attended preparatory schools 
and universities. I took private lessons at home, but 
my brother attended a preparatory school sweetly 



TRAVELS. 49 

called the Philantropina. There were several quaint 
characters among the students, one of whom I will 
stop to describe. The lad I have reference to came 
from Manchester, England, and his front name was 
Ted. We nicknamed him " Spleenisher Englander " 
(spleenetic Englishman) because he was so soft. He 
would believe anything that was told him. Many 
were the tricks that were played upon him. One 
nights several students chalked "their faces, wrapped 
long sheets around their bodies, rubbed sulphur upon 
their foreheads, and, with long-bladed knives gleam- 
ing in their hands, stalked into Ted's room. The 
coverlet was roughly pulled off him, and he w^as given 
a sounding thwack with a stick upon a very delicate 
spot. He jumped up in a hurry, but when he saw the 
ghostly tigures standing by his bedside erect and 
silent, he hastily pulled the clothes over himself and 
gave a blood curdling shriek. The ghosts tried to 
pull the coverlet from him again, but Ted clung to it 
desperately. A pitcher of water was thrown over 
him, whereupon he set up a series of shrieks 
that could have been heard blocks away. The ghosts 
lied precipitately then, stumbling over each other in 
their eagerness to get away before Mr. Blank caught 
them. This was one of the tricks played upon him. 
One day Ted told a comrade that he had broken his 
lorgrette (like most Englishmen he sported an eye- 
glass) and that he accidentally swallowed a large 
piece of glass. Immediately his comrade, who was a 
wag, assumed a serious air, and told Ted that swallow- 
ing a piece of glass was a highly dangerous thing to 
do. ''Suppose that glass should work itself to your 
heart, Ted, why you will be dead in less than an 
hour." Ted grew frightened. " Tell me what shall I 
do, Siegfried," said he to the wag distressedly. 
Siegfried, after thinking a moment or two, said: 
" If you faithfully promise to do as I say I'll rid you 
of that glass." Ted faithfully promised to do what 
he was bidden. " Get a large bottle of cod liver oil 
over at the druggist's, and no matter whether your 
liver comes up or not drink it all, else you will be a 
dead lad in less than no time. Ted bought the oil 



50 TRAVELS. 

and brought it to Siegfried. Ted tested it and 
shuddered. " Ugh ! I cawn't go that," said he. " You 
must," persisted Siegfried. Ted held his nostrils shut 
so as not to smell the vile stuff, and drank the entire 
contents of the bottle. A delegation of students called 
upon him next morning in his room, where he lay- 
sick in bed, and asked him how he felt. " Very bad," 
said the poor fellow. "But is the glass up ?" anxiously 
inquired his fellow students with long drawn faces. "I 
cawn't say, you know, I did not stop to see !" It took 
him several days to get over the effects of that bottle. 

There were some other droll characters in the school 
beside Ted, but I will not stop to describe them. My 
brother and I found the students to be a jolly set 
when we came to understand their ways and habits. 

Each Sunday in the year, the younger students took 
a walk with Mr. Blank to some place of interest near 
Frankfort. Whenever it rained on a Sunday, we ad- 
journed to some cafe in the suburbs of the town, where 
we drank beer, ate cakes, and listened to the sweet 
strains of a band of music. In fine weather we walked 
to the woods near Frankfort, gathering nuts, playing 
games, and amusing ourselves generally. Once each 
year Mr. Blank and as many students as chose, made 
tours of some length. Some of the tours lasted a day 
or two, others an entire week. Among the places vis- 
ited were Baden Baden, Wiesbaden, Homburg, Cologne, 
the Rhine, Switzerland, etc. I will describe one of 
these tours. 

The first tour ^lat my brother and I made in com- 
pany witli the students, was to Wiesbaden and Hom- 
burg. 

We all arose long before daylight on the day of the 
tour, and felt happy as clam at high tide. We swal- 
lowed our coifee and brodchen (rolls) in hot haste, 
slung our knapsacks— botanisirbuchsen, we called 
them — upon our backs, and were soon ready to depart. 
The command to depart ere long was given, and we 
hurried through the dark, deserted streets of Frank- 
fort to the Bahnhof (railroad station), where we were 
to take the cars for Wiesbaden. We entered the sta- 
tion and made a rush for the cars. There was much 



TRAVELS. . 51 

struggling among us for reserved seats in the ears— 
the seats nearest the \^indows. As the cars moved 
away from the station our " hochs" (hurrahs) were 
deafening to hear. We had to vent our enthusiasm 
some way. After about an hour's ride we reached 
Wiesbaden. Though the day had not yet dawned, we 
overran the town like a horde of wild Arabs, shout- 
ing, whooping, and yelling. Wiesbaden, though a 
small, is a picturesque town, nestling at the base of 
verdure-clad mountains. The scenery around it is 
charming. The town was dark and silent, its inhabi- 
tants being wrapped in si umber. When we had gained 
the town limits and just as we were about to ascend 
the mountain, we came upon a number of saddle-don- 
keys reclining on the sward. Their drivers lay 
stretched out at fall length, wrapped up in blankets, 
not far away from them. We roused the drivers 
and tried to make some arrangement with them about 
hiring all their donkeys for a ride up the mountain. 
After much gesticulating, shouting, and bargaining, 
we came to satisfactory terms. The donkeys were 
called up from the places where they were reclining. 
They seemed unwilling to be disturbed from their rest 
so early. There were not enough donkeys for all of us 
so it was agreed among us to take turns. We h ad 
some difficulty in mounting the brutes. They w ere 
ugly and refractory, and needed to be coaxed. We 
coaxed them with canes, switches, and umbrellas, but 
they seemed insensible to such cajoling. Their dri- 
vers whacked them unmercifully and shouted " hi ! hi I 
hi!" but they heeded the drivers as little as they did 
us. I had mounted a big mule and his nasty nature 
awoke my ire. I broke my cane upon his back but he 
only playfully w^hisked his tail. 1 yelled at him, pet- 
ted him, coaxed him, but he was oblivious to every- 
thing. I then stuck a pin into him and he rose upon 
his hind legs and gave vent to a series of brays that 
struck terror into my heart, I slid off his back in a 
hurry and could not be induced to mount him again. 
Ted was one of the would-be riders. He bestrode a 
diminutive donkey— scarcely big as himself— but the 
animal was stubborn as a mule. Ted twisted his tail, 



52 TRAVELS. 

pinched his ear, and poked him in the ribs with his 
umbrella, but produced no other effect than to make 
him hee-haw. The unmounted students watched his 
proceedings with much interest. Without speaking a 
word they all innocently gathered around his donkey. 
Suddenly a shower of blows fell upon the brute and 
made it rear. A lit cigarette was then placed under 
its tail. It gave a loud snort and a jump and then tore 
up the mountain side in a frantic manner. Ted clung 
to it in terror, but dropped his eye-glass. " Mein zwic- 
ker! mein zwicker!" (My eye-glass! my eye-glass!) 
he shouted frantically. The donkey did not care a 
cent for him or his eye-glass, but continued in its mad 
career. 

The rest of the caravan now had started and fol- 
lowed Ted's donkey up the mountain leisurely. The 
day had not fully dawned, and a stiff breeze was blow- 
ing. Away far up we could see huge clouds gallivant- 
ing around the mountain top. Soon we reached the 
top where we waited for the walkers of our party to 
arrive. Ted had reached the summit long before us. 
"Well, Ted, is the donkey alive yet?" was asked. 
" Blarst the bloody donkey," said he, " I thought sure 
he'd break my neck coming up !" After a little our 
entire party had assembled. A chapel, patterned after 
the Greek style, was built on the mountain top. A 
lovelier and at the same time a wilder spot could not 
have been selected for it. There was no other build- 
ing within miles of it. We rang up the chapel ward- 
ten, who admitted us into the building. The chapel 
was built of finest marble and had many deep-set, 
high, variegated glass windows. The golden sunbeams 
illumined the stained glass and cast many hues— 
orange, green, p^irple, yellow, white, and red — upon a 
marble figure representing her grace the Grand Duch- 
ess Van der Blinkenhoven Van der Blankensteim (I 
forgot her last name), of Kurhessen. Her grace's ef- 
figy was reclining at full length on a raised marble 
bier. As a work of art, it possessed much merit. 
Some of the students were excellent art critics — in 
their own minds — and critically examined the Duchess. 
One critic remarked, " Sie ist hubsch zum kissen" (she 



, TRA VEL8. 53 

is lovely enough to kiss). Another said: "Her feat- 
ures are faultless, with the exception of that wart on 
her chin," which proved to be a fly. Ted said she was 
"pawfectly grand." After all had sufficiently ogled 
the duchess and inspected the chapel to their hearts' 
content, we departed. Those who had not ridden the 
donkeys before, now had their turn. Going down was 
far more exciting than coming up. The donkeys 
scampered down the mountain side at a lively rate, 
and their riders bounced up and down upon their backs 
like India rubber balls. One tall and lanky German 
lad was flung headlong over his donkey's head and 
was gathered up more dead than alive. When picked 
up, he asked in a dazed manner, " Wo bin ich ?" (where 
am I ?), to which a would-be wag replied : "Auf dein 
hinterviertel " (upon your hindquarters), whereupon 
the lanky lad showed his teeth and looked fight. Even 
when town was reached the donkeys would not stop, 
but galloped through the streets at the top of their 
speed. A crowd of street boys ran after them, shout- 
ing, whooping and yelling. This maddened the don- 
keys. They charged through every street in the town, 
one following the other, and would not halt till com- 
pelled to from sheer exhaustion. None of the students 
were ever after anxious to go donkey riding. 

After we had all assembled again it was unani- 
mously decided that breakfast ought to be the next 
event on the programme. Accordingly we all repaired 
to the nearest inn where an ample repast was soon 
spread before us. Wliat with appetites sharpened by 
the bracing mountain air, and what with the lively 
exercise we had taken we felt hungry enough to have 
devoured all the provisions in Wiesbaden. Our good 
natured host and his assistants had all they could do 
to attend to our wants. 

Breakfast being over we took a short rest and then 
strolled through the town leisurely to see what we 
could see. Wiesbaden is one of the watering places of 
Germany and strangers flock here from far and near 
to drink the health-giving waters and for recupera- 
tion generally. It was then the height of the season. 
It was now about 10 o'clock a. m., and the streets were 



54 TRAVELS. 

full of people. People from all nations were here to 
be met with. There were Englishmen, Frenchmen, 
Austrians, Spaniards, Americans. Italians, Turks, &c., 
&c. It was an aristocratic and well-dressed crowd, too, 
with little or none of the riff-ralf element. 

We wended our way to the Kur Gardens. Such a 
grand sight we students never saw before. The gar- 
dens are scarcely less lovely than the famous Ver- 
sailles Gardens. Both nature and art have combined 
to render them beautiful. Lordly elms, larches, 
beeches, chestnut and cedar trees studded the gardens 
and afforded a grateful shade. Then there were well- 
graveled walks that led to every direction. Parterres 
of flowers, laid out with much skill and taste, charmed 
the eye, and the many-colored sweet-smelling flowers 
almost intoxicated the senses with their perfume. 
Fountains that threw up jets of water more than 100 
feet high were plentiful. Under a cluster of trees a 
handsome pavilion was built; in it a band of music 
was in the habit of playing twice each day, at 10 A. M. 
and 4 P. M. In every direction well-dressed ladies, 
gentlemen, and children were promenading. Princes, 
Dukes, Counts, Barons, Generals, Colonels, Ministers, 
Statesmen, and other high-toned personages, were plen- 
tiful as bedbugs in a boarding-house. Fat dowagers 
were taking an airing in company with their pet 
poodles. English mammas, attired in elegant morn- 
ing costumes, and surrounded by flaxen-haired, chub- 
by-faced, prattling children, wei'e leisurely walking 
about. Then there were Austrian matrons, with com- 
plexions fresh and blooming as a red rose. French 
ladies you could see, attired in that simple yet elegant 
manner that they so well know how to excel in. They 
were elegant, refined, and courtly in their manners, 
and were gayly chatting and laughing. What deli- 
cious nothings issued from those ruby lips, and what 
espeglerie, grace, wit, and sentiment they possessed! 
Ye lovely dames of France, I kiss the tips of your fin- 
gers with admiration ! Dusky, dark-eyed ladies from 
Spain and Italy could be seen and heard conversing in 
those rich, soft, and flowing accents so very like music. 
They called forth visions of their own sunny lands, 



T RAVE LIS. 55 

where all is poetry, music, sunliglit, sentiment, and 
luxurious delight. There were bravely accoutred 
officers from all nations here, too, upon whose breasts 
gleamed medals and decorations innumerable, and 
who fraternized in the most familiar manner. 

In the grounds were cafes, restaurants, and refresh- 
ment pavillions, which were thronged with people. 
People were seated at the tables eating ices, drinking 
light wines, and feasting generally. The jingle of 
glasses, the clatter of plates, the rattle of knives and 
forks, the drinking and gormandising, the laughter and 
conversation reminded one forcibly of the boulevards 
of Paris. To carry out the illusion, active French 
waiters, arrayed in black frock coats, white ties, and 
spotless linen, moved about among the throng with 
well laden trays, and now and then gave vent to a 
sacre God damn between their teeth when some one 
jostled them too rudely. Soon we entered the gaming 
halls, which were then at the height of their iniquitous 
glory. The halls— there were several of them— were 
frescoed, bepainted, and bedizened. Costly, elaborate 
wrought chandeliers depended from the ceilings, sup- 
porting amber hued globes, within which were low 
burning lights that diffused a golden glow throughout 
the apartment. The furniture was rich and sumptu- 
ous, so rich and sumptuous that I was afraid to sit 
down on one of the sofas for fear of committing 
sacrilege. Fine paintings relieved the monotony of 
bare walls, and statuary occupied the niches. The 
balmy morning air stole in through the open windows 
and mingled with the soft perfumes pervading the 
apartments. The floors were of high polished illumin- 
ated woods, and in their center stood the gaming 
tables. Distinguished looking ladies and gentlemen 
were already, so early in the morning, engaged in the 
various games of chance. Many a titled profligate 
was seated at these tables a perfect slave to the 
passion of gambling. Nor were profligates of the 
gentler sex lacking to complete the high-toned de- 
pravity of the scene. Some of the latter were as 
inveterate gamblers as the former. Many spectators 
stood around the tables engaged in watching 



56 TEA VELS. 

the proceedings. Conversation was not allowed, and 
the silence was only broken by the click click of the 
roulette wheel, the croupier's calls of the game, and 
the clink clink clink of gold and silver. In one hall 
roulette was played, in another rouge et noir, in still 
another vingt el un, etc. The faces of the players 
betrayed not a single emotion. Whether they lost or 
won their faces wore its calm impertubable expres- 
sion. Their self-control was wonderful. A beautiful 
lady player particularly engaged my attention. I 
watched her as she gradually lost thousands of 
thalers. First her huge piles of gold and silver were 
swept in, then bank note upon bank note till 
not a sou remained. The lady gracefully arose 
then, without a trace of emotion being visible 
in her lovely countenance, and walked away, 
whereupon her chair was immediately occupied 
by another noble patron of the art. I cannot 
describe my feelings while witnessing this scene. 
The lady's beauty had dazzled me, her wealth had 
awed me, and her command over herself won my ad- 
miration, and when she staked her last bank note I 
held my breath in suspense. When it was swept 
away I groaned and would have fallen A disgust for 
gamblers of whatever sex then possessed me. Those 
play halls have long since been abolished by a, decree 
of Kaiser Wilhelm. A sensible old Kaiser that. 

The next place we traveled to was Homburg. At 
Homburg there was a castle of ye ancient days, a 
something which I had long been pining for to see. I 
had read Anna EadclifCe's " Mysteries of Udolpho," 
and other high-wrought, glowing romances, till my 
fancy was worked up to a high pitch of interest. 
When I stood within the time-honored walls of that 
Homburg castle, my enthusiasm knew no bounds. I 
felt awe-stricken, and my flesh began to creep. Each 
individual hair stood on end and to express myself in 
one word I felt " alloverish ! " I felt capable then and 
there of writing a romance than which even Miss 
Anna Kadcliffe never wrote a more thrilling one. 

We first inspected the long and venerable castle 
hall. It was a vast apartment full of old armor, 



TRAVELS. m 

weapons, and the like. The casements, which were 
lofty, reaching to the ceiling almost, and were open to 
admit fresh air. Without could be seen lordly elms, 
and chestnut trees, that were softly soughing and 
swirring in the gentle summer breeze. They roused 
my fancy and I thought they were whispering to each 
other about the deeds of daring performed by the 
castle owners in ages gone by. They conjured up vis- 
ions of courtly knights and lovely dames, and trouba- 
dours, and roystering soldiers. We passed through 
other halls, apartments, rooms, and, also, dungeons. I 
was charmed and delighted with everything. It was 
many a long day before the effects of the visit to the 
castle was effaced from my brain. 

I have omitted many things in this sketch. I have 
described little of our school-life, little of Frankfort, 
itself, and little of anything in fact. I may make 
amends in the future, perhaps. My sketch, such as it 
is, is done. 



